


Crossfire

by crane_wings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, 2P world building, Explicit Language, Gen, Humor, Shades of Yandere-ness, characters and tags to be added as they show up, dark themes, looking at you 2P Iceland, mostly from Romano
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crane_wings/pseuds/crane_wings
Summary: Nations are disappearing with no rhyme or reason, and strange ones are popping up in their place.In other words, Feliciano's stuck in a horrifying world where pasta isn't the native Italies' favorite food, the 2P nations are in a tizzy over a FOURTH Italy running around, Romano's perpetually on the verge of having an aneurysm from stress and anger, and the 1P nations are still trying - and failing - to have a productive meeting to save the world(s).





	Crossfire

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, tbh, this story is just an excuse to do some world building for the 2P universe, so plot progression isn't the main priority here. Nor are there any official pairings, aside from some hints scattered about for fun. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: 2P nations being creepy and/or creepers, Romano's language

**Location: 2P Korea**

“Who the hell is that?”

“How the hell should _I_ know?”

Feliciano’s gaze bounced between the two Asian nations verbally facing off, and he absently shoved another mouthful of noodles into his mouth while watching the showdown.

“He’s in your house, eating your food. Food _you_ cooked for him!”

“I found him pawing through my pantry, and when he saw me, he started crying and waving a white flag around! What else was I supposed to do in that situation?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Kick him out? _Not_ feed him? What if he’s like a stray cat and won’t leave?”

“…Well, he hasn’t made a mess so far…”

“You idiot!” The elder nation began boxing the other’s ear. “You’re not keeping him!”

“Ow! Ow, okay! I get it! Stop hitting me!”

Feliciano suddenly piped in with a, “Veh~ I can cook and clean and do all sorts of chores, so I won’t make a mess. I promise,” which drew the two nations’ attention, and he smiled cheerfully at them. "Oh! And thank you for giving me food. It's not pasta but it still tastes really good~"

For some reason, both China and South Korea sure looked and dressed different today, but Feliciano didn’t think too deeply on it. He'd never visited them at their private residences before, so maybe their new look was actually nothing new at all. Like how he preferred to wander around his own home in nothing but his underwear, then forgot to put on pants when he went outside until Germany started yelling at him about being indecent. Yeah, something like that.

The two Asian nations scrutinized the uninvited visitor before turning back to each other. “…That hair curl,” China whispered.

Korea nodded, looking grim. “That’s why I didn’t immediately kick him out for trespassing. If he’s one of them…”

“…Then we should be courteous to avoid incurring _that one’s_ displeasure. He’s been content to keep his gaze towards the west so far. It would be best for us to make sure it stays that way.”

“Mm,” Korea hummed agreeably, squinting a little as he studied his _guest_ again. “You know…if you look past the stupid expression on his face, he looks a lot like _him_. Eerily so, don’t you think? Maybe that’s why no one knows about this one. He doesn’t really fit in with their general image, so the other three kept him hidden away.”

A grimace crossed China’s face. “All the more reason to treat him well and send him back as soon as possible.”

“Eh? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Feliciano’s head tilted to the side as he tried to parsed through their conversation. “Who do I look like? Is it Romano? He _is_ my big brother~ And he might be grumpy most of the time and yells at everybody a lot, but he doesn’t mind when I sleep in bed with him. And he makes really good pasta sauce~”

“…Sure, I was talking about Romano.” Korea laughed uneasily and leaned over to hiss into China’s ear, “I thought Romano was the flashy one that smiles all the time. Y’know, the _nice_ one compared to the other two.”

“He is,” China hissed back just as quietly, deciding to keep his less complimentary opinions on the eldest Italy to himself. That train of thought led to dark places, and now wasn’t the time to get angry over past encounters in shadowed alleyways. “Maybe he’s different in private.”

However by this point, Feliciano had gone far off track of the conversation, listing all the things Romano could cook with little tips tossed in about herbs and seasonings. Two pairs of red eyes met tiredly.

“Y'know…there's a good way to get him out of here fast without implicating us.”

“Believe me, I’m listening.”

* * *

 

**Location: 2P Rome, Italy**

Seborga stared dispassionately down at the large shipping box sitting in the foyer, barely batting a lash when it began shaking and emitting human-like noises. It didn’t really surprise him to learn there was something alive inside since the package was addressed to Veneziano, but he did raise a brow at the “First Class Shipping” and “Overnight Express” labels plastered on the box. It had long been proven that the more time a victim spent in the shipping process, the more amenable they were upon arriving; and no one he knew would care all that much about the comfort of the person they were literally mailing.

After shooting a quick text to Luciano, he pulled out a knife and began slicing through the tape. The noises inside sounded inordinately distressed, and Seborga didn’t want whoever it was to die before his big brother could get his hands dirty. At least, not without Flavio around to calm him down from a temper tantrum, which could very well end in a declaration of war just so Luciano could take his anger out on someone convenient. And while Seborga’s heart skipped a beat or two at the glorious thought of war, of standing on a battlefield with the thrilling scent of spilled blood and spent gunpowder invading his nostrils, he also acknowledged there'd be little to nothing to gain from inciting a meaningless conflict.

The box shook violently again and the top popped open, allowing the occupant to struggle into a sitting position. “...Oh, it opened!” Watery brown eyes – set in a disturbingly familiar face – wandered a bit before settling on Seborga. “Who are you? Where are we? I’m hungry. Is there pasta?”

The general coloring was off and Luciano wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a dumb expression like that, but the micronation recognized his older brother’s face. There was no mistake. He knew Luciano’s face as well as he did his own lands, every dip and curve and minute shift of emotion. This guy even had the hair curl angled correctly to the left. “…I'm the one asking the questions here. Are you supposed to be some kind of imposter?” Contrary to the dull monotone he spoke in, Seborga violently shoved the knife towards the other’s face, stopping just short of slicing open a cheek. “Identify yourself.”

“Wah!” The stranger jerked away from the knife point with a loud screech. “I give up! I surrender! I’ll tell you anything you want! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Then tell me who you are,” Seborga intoned, knife still held at the ready.

“I’m North Italy! Italy Veneziano! My brother is Italy Romano. I like pasta and pizza and flirting with girls and taking siestas and spending time with my best friends, Germany and Japan. I don’t like scary things like being held at knifepoint and England’s food because it tastes bad.”

The Italian micronation's eye twitched as this supposed “North Italy” continued to ramble on and on about the various things he liked and disliked, occasionally tossing in a reason for why. Having had enough, Seborga whipped a hand out to snag the other’s long hair curl and yanked harshly at it.

“Gyah!” The imposter’s wails hit a new pitch, fresh tears immediately welling up at the new form of abuse. “Germany, help me! It hurts! It hurts! What did I do wrong? I’m telling you everything I know!”

“You're being annoying. Tell me something useful.”

“What’s with all the noise, little brother? If you’re going to torture someone, either take it outside or down to the basement. I don’t want to listen to Flavio bitch about stains on the hardwood flooring again.”

Seborga froze like a deer caught in headlights, not having noticed Luciano’s arrival, and released the hair curl to turn and respectfully greet his brother. Basic pleasantries out of the way, Seborga dipped his chin towards the fake Veneziano, who laid sprawled out on the ground after their mild confrontation. The little wimp had quieted down by now and slowly sat up to stare unabashedly at the unamused redhead approaching them, prompting the micronation to nudge him none to gently with a booted foot, which drew out a wordless squeak of protest. “This came in the post for you, _fratello_. Aside from your title and address, the mailing information is in Cyrillic script.”

“…Strange. I haven’t ordered anything from that region, and no one has called ahead to let me know about a live package. Who might you be?”

 

 

For his part, Feliciano watched with wide eyes as the newcomer crouched down to put them closer to eye level. This was probably the person China and South Korea had been talking about in hushed tones, the one he supposedly looked like, and this close up, Feliciano could see what they meant. It felt like looking into a mirror. A scary, red tinted mirror. He even recognized his look-alike’s clothing as the WWII North Italian Brigade uniform, if embellished with a couple fashionable additions, but the uniform had been retired decades ago after the war ended, which begged the question of why it was still being worn by this person.

A sharp, derisive scoff cut through the tension when he stayed silent a little too long. “He claims to be Italy Veneziano, which is ridiculous since he hasn’t even realized yet that we’re in Rome.”

“Huh? _Rome_?!” But…he didn’t feel like he was home. A country’s capital was the nation’s heart, and every nation knew at their very core when they stood in their own capital. If they were really in Rome, then why did it still feel like he was on someone else’s land? "We're really in Rome?"

His red-toned counterpart just laughed in response to the interruption and Feliciano’s confused expression. “You’re so impatient, Seborga. He would have spoken in his own time. They all do.”

That last sentence sounded a shade too ominous, and Feliciano started to inch backwards to put some extra distance between them. Wait, Seborga? That scary, dark-haired, hair curl abuser was _Seborga_? No, no, no. Seborga was happy-go-lucky and really good at flirting with girls, even better than him and Romano! There was no way that guy could be his cute little brother!

“As for you.” A gloved hand reached out, fingers gently brushing over his cheek, and Feliciano flinched back in response. Thankfully though, his reaction didn’t seem to offend the other nation. “You certainly _look_ like an Italy.”

“What else am I supposed to look like? I really am Italy Veneziano! I wouldn’t lie about that.” It just wasn’t done, not even in a joking manner. For a nation to lie about something so intrinsic was to betray everything that made them a _nation_.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt you’re telling the truth. You have such a sincere face, you see? But, that leaves us with a small problem.” The other Italy rested his elbow on a knee and casually propped his head up, looking strangely delighted. “Because _I_ am Italy Veneziano, too, which means one of us shouldn’t be here. And I do believe it’s not me who’s out of place because I can feel here,” he tapped a finger on his chest, right over his heart, “that we’re in my capital. I’m sure Seborga feels it as well, being a part of Italy as he is.”

On cue, the micronation murmured a quiet agreement, and the redhead happily clapped his hands together. “See? Seborga and I belong here. So, where does that leave  _you_ , little interloper?”

Feliciano trembled with fright under the double assault of Seborga’s violet glare and his counterpart’s chillingly upbeat smile, and wished Germany and Japan were here with him. Honestly, anyone he knew would do at this point. Nations like England and Russia might be scary but not like this.

If this feeling was what the other nations meant by “reading the atmosphere,” then he didn’t want to read it anymore.

* * *

 

**Location: 2P Finland**

A soft rustle of feathers announced the bird’s arrival, and Finland glanced up from his paperwork to greet Iceland’s animal companion. “Good evening, Mr. Puffin, I wasn't expecting you.” Red eyes drifted to the empty doorway. “Is Iceland not with you?”

“Greetings, good Sir.” The puffin dipped his beak to the nation politely. “Apologies for dropping in unannounced, but Iceland is the reason I’ve traveled here alone today. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him recently? He assured me he would be home by no later than this morning, but he has yet to return from his trip to Korea’s house. I had hoped to find him either here with you or with one of the other Nordics.”

“Oh my. I’m sorry but I haven’t seen him since last week. It’s not like him to miss any kind of appointment.”

“No, it’s not like him at all.” The puffin clacked his beak worriedly. “If I could ask a favor of you, Mr. Finland?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll contact the others and see if they know his whereabouts. Please, make yourself at home while you wait.”

“Much obliged, Sir.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Finland watched the bird flutter out of the room after another dip of its beak. Iceland truly wasn’t the type to disappear without warning. Sure, he might wander off every now and then, but he always took his animal companion along with him on those occasions. Then again, the young Nordic got caught up in his own thoughts sometimes, or perhaps he needed a little advice from one of the others, then lost track of time in doing so.

It was probably nothing, but it wouldn’t hurt to make a few calls to be certain. And, maybe set up a mandatory get together while he was at it. A week without seeing his family seemed far too long for his tastes. Why, it felt like a gaping chasm had opened between the six of them already, and leaving it any longer meant they'd drift too far apart to still be considered a family.

Oh dear, that wouldn't do _at all_. 

* * *

 

**Location: 1P Italy**

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, EYEPATCH BASTARD?”

“Aw, that’s not nice. I’m just a lost soul who’s looking for clues about where I am. Besides, isn’t it a little rude for you to call me names when you didn’t even knock before barging in?”

“You…you…” Romano sputtered, seconds away from throwing himself across the room to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and _strangle_. The guy looked scraggly enough that he could probably take him on and win…maybe. “You break into my house, dig through my little brother’s underwear drawer, and then you have the fucking _gall_ to call _me_ rude, you fucking bastard?”

“Score~ I _thought_ I was getting brother vibes from it, but it’s good to get confirmation since I’m usually better at picking up older brother vibes rather than the younger brother ones.”

“…What the fucking hell is wrong with you?” God damn, of course it had to be a crazy bastard breaking in. What a damn creep...and thinking about it, maybe now would be a good time to call Spain over to act as a buffer. Romano’s hand slipped into his pocket for the cell phone while he growled, “Seriously, who are you and how did you get in my house? And where’s my little brother, you damn pervert? What’d you do with him?”

“Pervert? I’m not a pervert. I simply have a healthy appreciation for brothers. And on that note, I haven’t seen your little brother.” The blond’s head tilted to the side. “...Who’s your little brother?”

“Italy Veneziano, damn it! Where the fuck is he? I swear to God, if you’ve done _anything_ to him…” Romano trailed off, feeling awkward as he couldn't come up with a dire enough threat. 

Still, as lame as it was, the lack of a concrete threat seemed to get the proper response anyway. The teenage nation’s single visible eye had widened and nervously darted around, while the color drained from his face as terror crept over his expression. The guy even threw himself away from the underwear drawer as though something would come jumping out at him if he remained too close to it. “I-Italy?  _No way_ , I’m not suicidal enough to mess with that guy. If he’s not here, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Uh…” Romano shifted uncomfortably on his feet, irritated that Veneziano was yet again regarded as ‘Italy’ despite only representing the Northern territory but also completely thrown at the other nation’s sudden fear. No one had ever taken his threats seriously before; for good reason, since he could never go through with them. The Mafia didn’t answer to his demands, and more often than not, turned their bullying onto him in retaliation for his boldness. “You–“

“Hey, wait! Hold on a second.” The blond nation squinted at Romano suspiciously, fear seemingly put on hold for now. “Italy Veneziano’s only got one older brother, and you’re _not_ Italy Romano, faker.”

“What? The hell I’m not, you bastard! Who the fuck do you think you are to accuse me of lying, damn it?”

“Forget think. I _know_ I'm Iceland.” The smaller nation scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve met Italy Romano before, and I’m telling you, you’re _nothing_ like him!”

“The fuck you are, eyepatch bastard! I’ve met Iceland before and _you’re_ not him!”

The two nations glared at each other, caught in a stalemate neither knew how to break.

“Fuck this. I’ll prove which of us is the faker here, bastard.” Romano scrolled through his contacts list and jabbed at the call option, foot tapping impatiently while he waited for the other nation to pick up. “…Spain! Get…don't interrupt…hey, listen to me…SHUT UP, you bastard! Just get your ass over to my place and help me, damn it! What…for fuck’s sake, yes, bring the damn tomatoes.”


End file.
